The Darkest Corners of the Soul
by Jules7
Summary: When Hermione falls mysteriously ill, Harry and Ron have to re-examine her role in their lives while they find a way to save her. Chapter 1: The Calm Before the Storm


Title: The Darkest Corners of the Soul  
  
Author: Jules  
  
Rating: R for language and adult situations  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just playing with them for a little  
  
while. Ms. Rowling, please don't sue me...  
  
Summary: When Hermione falls mysteriously ill, Harry and Ron have to re- examine her role in their lives while searching to find a way to  
  
save her.  
  
Author's note: This was the first R/H fic I EVER started—I hope some of you remember when I started this so long ago. Well, I've picked it back up, brushed it off, and started again. This is going to  
  
be a little on the heavy side, but I think it'll be worth the pain  
  
for the result. (I hope, anyway).  
  
  
  
Chapter One: The Calm Before the Storm  
  
"Double Potions first? Merlin, how are we supposed to face Snape AND the Slytherins first thing in the morning?"  
  
Ron Weasley was wailing loudly as he stared in disbelief at his new timetable. The start of his seventh year, supposed to be his greatest, was looking dismal.  
  
"Cheer up, mate. At least we'll get them out of the way." Harry Potter, one of Ron's best friends, reached across him to steal a slice of toast. Ron glared at Harry.  
  
"Not bloody likely." A resounding smack on his arm sent Ron's glare round to his other best friend, fellow Gryffindor and Head Girl Hermione Granger. "Yikes! What was THAT for?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. "Don't swear, Ron." The exchange was automatic, having occurred on a regular basis since the trio's fifth year, when Ron discovered how fun it was to rankle Hermione with coarse language. Hiding his grin, he turned his attention to his copy of the Daily Prophet.  
  
"Besides, Ron," said Harry with a mouthful of toast, "I'm sure it doesn't make the Slytherins any happier than it does us, right?"  
  
Ron pondered Harry's statement as Hermione packed up her bag. "Excellent point, Harry. This day is looking marginally brighter."  
  
Hermione leaned down over the table and blew a strand of wavy chestnut hair out of her eyes. "Brighter or not, this day is starting in ten minutes, and we have to be in the dungeons. Best be on our way, or Snape'll ruin your mood for sure, Ron!" And the three sprinted out of the Great Hall, desperate to avoid Snape's wrath.  
  
* * *  
  
As was customary at the beginning of a term, Snape began class that morning by banging his way into the dungeon and striding through the throng of students gathered at their cauldrons. Facing his students with disdain and a modicum of disgust, he lifted a sheet of parchment from his podium.  
  
"Today, we begin work on a freezing potion, good for extending the shelf life of other potions or herbs while they are in storage. I've taken the liberty," and here he smiled nastily, "of pairing you up myself. Malfoy and Granger, Weasley and Longbottom, Potter and Parkinson…"  
  
When each pair was settled at a cauldron, Snape distributed the potion's ingredients and stepped away to watch them work. Already, Ron was struggling to repair a mistake of Neville's, frantically scraping lacewings out of the cauldron. Harry and Pansy worked without a word or a glance between them, but at least they were getting something done. A table away, Hermione and Draco were busier snapping at each other than brewing their potion.  
  
"Mudblood, why don't you hand me that vial of spider's blood."  
  
"Ferret-boy, why don't you get it yourself."  
  
Draco, highly irritated with Hermione, pushed past her and reached for the vial. His grip wasn't quite balanced, however, and it slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. The sound of shattering glass brought Snape from the back of the room.  
  
"What is this? Granger, clean this mess up, and 10 points from Gryffindor for your clumsiness. Mr. Malfoy, come with me and I will give you another vial."  
  
Livid at Snape's assumption, Hermione chose wisely not to respond and simply dropped to pick up the shards of glass from the floor. She was trying to avoid getting the sticky mess on her robes and didn't notice when a shard sliced neatly across her palm. She never would have noticed if Ron hadn't.  
  
"Hermione, you've cut yourself! You're bleeding!"  
  
Looking down at her hand, Hermione recognized the sharp sting of the open wound. She threw away the broken glass and presented her hand to Snape, who waved her off to the Hospital Wing just before berating Ron and Neville as the cauldron they were working at overflowed.  
  
* * *  
  
Madam Pomfrey took one look at Hermione's palm and clucked like an old mother hen. "Nasty cut there, Miss Granger. How did you get this?"  
  
When Hermione told the medi-witch of the incident in Potions, Madam Pomfrey shook her head and sighed. "That man, no regard for student safety sometimes. Well dear, you're all cleaned up. Better get to your next class now."  
  
Hermione scurried out of the Hospital Wing, still examining the palm of her hand, marveling at the quick healing spell Madam Pomfrey had used on her. She met up with Ron and Harry on the way to Transfiguration, having missed the rest of Potions.  
  
"Alright there, Hermione? That was some slice." Harry turned her palm up to his face to examine it more closely. She smiled at his brotherly concern and withdrew her hand—it still felt a bit tender.  
  
"I'm fine, Harry. I would never have even noticed it had Ron not said something to me about it."  
  
Ron, who was loping along on Hermione's other side, grinned. "Well, I didn't want you getting detention for dripping blood on the floor. Snape would have surely gotten you for that one." The three entered the Transfiguration classroom and took their seats as Professor McGonagall stood from her chair and made her way to the lectern. She began to speak, but Hermione didn't—couldn't--hear her. It felt as though all the blood in Hermione's body was rushing through her head, pounding in her ears. Her vision blurred and then cleared. She shook her head back and forth to regain her equilibrium, and beside her, Ron and Harry gave her concerned looks. She pressed her now-shaking hands to the tabletop and took a deep breath to steady herself. When her blood pressure seemed to return to normal, she picked up her quill and began taking notes. Not a minute later, a small piece of parchment appeared before her.  
  
Hermione,  
  
Are you alright? You looked funny, just then.  
  
Ron  
  
Hermione scribbled a response and slid the paper to Ron when McGonagall turned her back, still lecturing about the dangers of transfiguring someone in their sleep. Ron seemed moderately satisfied with her reply--"I'm fine. Just got a little dizzy—must have been from the sight of my own blood"—for he didn't ask again, but he did watch her closely until the bell rang.  
  
* * *  
  
"Hermione, you look awfully pale. Are you sure you're alright?"  
  
By lunch, Hermione was acting as though she felt better, though Ron and Harry insisted that she still looked peaked. Claiming hunger, she tried to act as though her energy was returning, when it reality she was feeling worse. She was weak and dizzy, and her stomach churned rebelliously at the chicken and rice she'd eaten. She was desperately attempting to keep up with the conversation Ron and Harry were having when she realized that they'd stopped talking and were staring at her.  
  
"What? What is it?"  
  
Harry peered into Hermione's face. "You tell us. What's wrong with you?"  
  
"Nothing, Harry! I told you both a hundred times, I'm fine!" At the end of her rope, Hermione stood and turned to leave. Unexpectedly, the roar of blood in her head was back, and the dizziness, and the nausea, and then…  
  
Blackness overcame her, and she knew no more. 


End file.
